


More of Hellebore Than of Hell (A Dickensian Tale)

by kinky_kneazle



Category: A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2012-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:48:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinky_kneazle/pseuds/kinky_kneazle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is visited by three <s>ghosts</s> Gryffindors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More of Hellebore Than of Hell (A Dickensian Tale)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leo_draconis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leo_draconis/gifts).



> Originally written for hd_holidays, 2011. With thanks to Kitty for cheerleading and handholding. All my love to Curiouslyfic who was online and chatting when I said, "oh, wouldn't a Drarry Christmas Carol be deliciously cracky" and who then made me see it didn't need to be cracky and would totally work. She also helped place HP characters in their Dickensian roles. And, as usual, love and my eternal gratitude to Uniquepov, for beta duties, title help, making my words make sense and, in this case, the best one-liner in the story.

** Snape's Ghost **

_Snape was dead, to begin with. More importantly, in the wizarding world, he had not been seen since his death. It was accepted as fact that when Death came to collect him, he was tapping his foot impatiently and cursing the dunderhead for being late; he then stalked ahead, commanding the Spirit to hurry. He passed through the veil, happy that his job was done and he could finally rest._

 _The mourners at his funeral numbered more people than he actually knew; they were happy to wail at the monument of a hero now that he was gone, though they still whispered behind their hands that he had been a miserable, sallow-faced, git, and this outcome was for the best. Only two men at his graveside actually mourned, and one of those had been an enemy during his life. Still, they both signed the register of his burial - _Harry Potter_ and _Draco Malfoy_ written in careful script on the paperwork – and each threw a handful of dirt on his casket, before exchanging a silent nod and going on their way. _

So, Severus Snape was dead and passed beyond the veil, choosing not to join the ranks of ghosts. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story to follow...

* * *

Draco Malfoy sat behind his desk and stared at the man standing nervously in front of him.

"I don't rightly care what day it is, Weasel. The order for St Mungo's is not finished, and everyone will stay here until it is."

"It's Christmas Eve!"

"Yes, you've said that already." He held the red-head's eyes for a long moment. "Fine. Anyone who does not wish to work tonight may leave."

"Really?"

"Of course. Just be sure to tell them not to bother coming in on Monday, if they do."

The smile that had graced Weasley's features for a moment quickly fell. Draco watched as he turned and walked to the outer office to relay the message to the potioneers, leaving Draco to his correspondence.

He grimaced as he took out another sheet of letterhead. _Malfoy & Snape_, named in honour of his mentor. The man who'd saved his life. Draco shook his head clear and put quill to parchment; he was always melancholy at this time of year.

Of course, if you asked his employees, they'd tell you he was melancholy at all times of year, although it was possible they wouldn't use that word. In fact, he most often heard grumpy, miserable, bad-tempered, cold and horrid. Hermione Granger had been known to describe him in literary terms, with Shylock and Mr Mean most often mentioned. On one memorable occasion, she'd described him as a 'squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner'. Once upon a time, that would have left Draco feeling proud.

Now it left him as cold as everything else in his life. He folded the parchment and set his ring to the seal, before turning to the next piece of parchment. It seemed like everything in his life was paperwork these days, rather than the research and development he'd envisaged when he started the company.

 _Well,_ he acknowledged to himself as another knock sounded at the door, _paperwork and dealing with incompetent employees._

"It's really very simple, Weasley. If they don't work, they get fired."

"Well, it's a good thing I don't work for you, then."

Draco's head snapped up at the sound of a female voice. A woman stood in front of him, holding a large wreath of holly and ivy. Her hair was the red of a fire engine, with green tips, and she wore a t-shirt that depicted a Christmas tree and proclaimed "I ♥ big packages" in big lettering. This particular branch of his family had no class at all.

"Nymphadora," he drawled.

"Cousin. I'll let you get away with that, since it's Christmas, and a time for goodwill towards all men. Even you."

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, Mum asked me to drop in and check that you hadn't killed any employees with overwork. Remus asked me to invite you to Christmas lunch. And I wanted to bring you this wreath. To brighten your office."

"I don't allow Christmas decorations here; we don't want any odd ingredients getting into the potions."

"From your office?"

"There's no telling what a lab assistant is going to brush past. The entire lot of them are complete dunderheads; they’re worse than Longbottom. It's a surprise every day that the place is still standing. So, you see, this is for safety's sake."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. And my other questions?"

"Considering they barely lift a finger around this place, there's no chance anyone would die from _over_ work. And no, I will not dine with you in your hovel tomorrow. I already have the new _Potioneer's Almanac_ and a good bottle of brandy laid out for the day."

"When did you turn into an old curmudgeon? That's no way to celebrate Christmas!"

"Christmas? Bah, humbug! You keep Christmas in your way, cousin, and let me keep it in mine. Now, as everyone seems to think I can't work for the next two days, I have a lot to do right now, and would appreciate you leav-"

Draco paused at the sound of a familiar laugh from Weasley's office. _Harry._

"I'll just see if he has a free minute," Weasley was saying.

Draco spoke as soon as the Weasel stuck his head around the doorframe. "No." He _really_ didn't want to see Harry today.

"Aw, come on, Malfoy." Harry, being Harry, had walked in anyway, his companion trailing after him. "We only want a minute of your time."

He glared at the two men who were standing in front of him. He took in Harry, looking oh, so familiar. Familiar long legs, familiar broad chest and that familiar smile playing around those too-sexy lips. The other man was short and would have been completely unimportant, if he wasn't standing so close to Harry.

Draco fought down the urge to leap over his desk and shove the non-descript brunet, whose name he couldn't remember, away from Harry. Or, better yet, he could Apparate – Apparating was quicker, right? He could Apparate directly in front of Harry and kiss him senseless, so that everyone knew exactly who he belonged to.

Except Harry didn't belong to him anymore. He scowled.

"What do you want, Potter?"

Ah. And there was that familiar shuttering of the eyes, even as Harry pasted on a fake smile.

"Roger and I were just collecting money for the Marauder's Foundation, a charitable group set up to provide housing and care for-"

"I know what it is, Potter. You've been hawking it for years now. Haven't all the war orphans grown up and gone to Hogwarts yet?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "It hasn't been that long since the war ended. Anyway, Padfoot's Place has opened its doors to Muggle-born children whose parents are unwilling or unable to care for them."

"As I understand it, my exorbitant war reparations and equally large taxes were spent by the Ministry on a home for the great unwashed. Your orphans can go there."

"The Ministry isn't equipped to deal with Muggle-borns, and without Padfoot's Place they'll end up on the street and probably freeze to death in the London winter."

"Then they should hurry up and die and decrease the surplus population."

"Typical Malfoy; only thinking of your own selfish desires. You'll wake up one day and discover yourself all alone, you know that?"

"One can only hope."

"Here's mine and Remus' contribution," Nymphadora said, before Harry could say more. "And you can have the wreath as well. Apparently, it violates safety regulations."

"Come on, Harry." Roger was tugging on Harry's arm and causing Draco's jaw to clench painfully. "I told you it was a waste of time."

Harry gave him a long look, full of disappointment, and that was too-familiar as well. Thankfully, Tonks moved between them, breaking the eye contact as she ushered Harry out of the room.

"Merry Christmas, Draco," she said cheerfully as she led the way out.

"Don't know how you put up with him, Ron," he could hear Harry mutter. Wisely, Ron shut the door before he replied.

* * *

Many hours later, after his staff had left and he had ensured the quality of the stock they had prepared – discarding more vials than he should have, in his opinion – Draco sent the large order through the Floo to St Mungo's and then stepped into the fireplace to go home.

He flicked a glance at the clock and saw that it was almost midnight. Almost Christmas. He moved through the entrance hall to his study, enjoying the blessedly blank and undecorated walls of the Manor.

"Listy!" His personal elf popped up beside him. "Fix me a plate of food and bring it here."

"Master Draco, Sir, the house-elves have prepared a Yule feast for the Master. Turkey and trimmings. Master Draco must go to the dining room."

Draco felt a pressure building in that spot above his left eye that was precursor to a migraine and lifted his fingers to gently massage his temples. What was it with everyone insisting that he celebrate Christmas?

"I am eating in the study tonight. Bring me a tray and then send everyone to bed. And if I'm woken in the morning with anything resembling a Christmas celebration, it will be clothes for you all. Understand?"

The elf’s eyes were wide with fear. "Yes, Master Draco! Listy be telling everyone."

He downed a headache reliever in the few seconds it took for Listy to return with a tray and then sent the elf away as he sat down to his solitary meal. He floated a book in front of his tray and read as he ate the roast veg and baked meat of some sort. He really wasn't paying attention, though it was probably very good.

He placed the tray aside, along with the book, and stared into the fire as he sipped at a glass of whisky. He may have brandy ready for Christmas day, but whisky was what he drank when he saw Potter and memories got the better of him. He brought the image of Harry with Roger up in his mind – the comfortable way they touched, the smile Roger sent his way. He extrapolated, seeing the two of them naked, those lips spilling _Roger's_ name during the moment of ecstasy, instead of Draco's.

The lead crystal glass made a most satisfying sound as it shattered against the stones of the fireplace.

"Does destroying your possessions make you feel any better, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco spun in his seat to see the ghostly apparition of Severus Snape standing by his desk.

"Severus?" He stood and walked towards his old professor and mentor. A hand reached out to touch his hand and slipped straight through. "You're a ghost."

"Your powers of observation have slipped since my passing. Either that, or your skill for stating the obvious has increased."

"Where have you been for the last seven years? I never expected to see you on this side of the veil."

"Well, this is a one-time event."

"And you chose to visit me?"

"Consider this more as an assignment. I have been sent to prepare the way for those who will follow."

"That sounds suitably ominous. Perhaps you can just say what you mean."

Severus huffed. "Fine. It has come to the attention of the powers that be, that your attitude towards the current season of joy and goodwill is somewhat lacking in either joy or goodwill."

"Not you, too. Can no one accept that I'm happy sitting here in my miserly curmudgeon-ness?"

"No."

"And this isn't a bit hypocritical of you, Severus? I don't recall ever seeing you celebrate the season."

"The very reason that I was the one sent. Have a seat and pour a drink."

Draco did as Snape bade him, watching the ghostly figure pace in much the same way that he had during his life. He even glided in the same way, though now the appearance of floating was natural, rather than the effect of some cleverly spelled robes.

"Draco, did I seem happy to you?"

"No. But you were a spy; you couldn't show your satisfaction with your life."

"My life held very little satisfaction. I have been sent to try to –"

"Show me the errors of my ways?" Draco held the decanter to his nose, trying to discern what had been slipped into it.

"I suggest you heed me, Mr Malfoy," Snape said, sounding as sharp as he ever had in Potions class. "You will be visited this night by three Gryffindors –"

"Wait! I've read Dickens. It should be three _ghosts_ , shouldn't it?"

"Let me be more specific. You will be visited by three _spirits_ , all of whom were once Gryffindors."

"No, Severus. Anything but that. Ravenclaws. Hufflepuffs, even. But not that."

"The man in charge believes that Gryffindors are the only ones who can teach this lesson properly. I believe he is biased, but I'm not in charge."

"And who _is_ in charge? Merlin? The Muggle God?" Draco sneered.

"Worse." Severus shuddered. "Albus Dumbledore."

Draco knew his eyes were wide with fear. "Albus Dumbledore runs the world?"

"No. Just your little corner of it. So you're right to look afraid."

Draco drained his glass and noticed Severus looking at it as though he desperately wanted a drink.

"Three spirits," Snape continued. "And I suggest you listen to them, Mr Malfoy. Otherwise, you'll wind up like me – miserable and alone in life, and miserable and working for a lemon-drop wielding maniac in death."

"Can't be any worse than the Dark Lord."

"You'd be surprised."

"And this is really what spirits do? Come up with elaborate plans to teach ex-Death Eaters to love Christmas?"

"It's always possible that the Headmaster is just having a bit of fun at your expense, but I would suggest you look on this as a learning experience." He looked towards the clock. "My time grows short."

"Can you at least tell me what combination of ingredients I breathed in, to be seeing you?"

"I'm not a hallucination!" he snapped. "Didn't I teach you to trust your senses?"

"No. You taught me to question everything, especially when I've been bent over a cauldron for a large part of the night. Yes." He nodded decisively. "There's more of hellebore than of hell about you."

"Very witty," Snape said, in his usual dry tone. "Just be prepared. Expect the first spirit when the clock strikes one!"

"My clock doesn't strike-"

"For Merlin's sake, shut up! I'd forgotten how annoying the living are." Snape sent Draco one last glare and popped out of existence.

 

** The Hallucination of Christmas Past **

_Draco went to bed and worried at the problem as a small child would worry at a loose tooth. Snape's ghost bothered him exceedingly. He decided within himself that it was all a dream, but mature inquiry and experience in the magical world kept a kernel of doubt within him and presented the evening as a problem to be worked through: "Was it a dream or not?"_

 _Realising that the ghost had told him to expect the first visitation when the bell tolled one, he resolved to stay awake and wait for it. Somewhere in the large abode, a long-forgotten grandfather clock began to chime. The bell sounded with a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy ONE. Lights flashed up in the room upon the instant, looking strangely like fireworks._

 _The curtains of his bed were drawn aside by a hand and Draco, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, found himself face to face with the spirit who drew them. It was a strange figure: strangely familiar, with red hair, freckles and an annoying grin._

"A Weasley? Really?"

The redhead spread his arms wide. "In the flesh. Or the not-flesh, as the case may be."

"You're not amusing," Draco sneered. Fred. Fred was the twin who had died. Fred was, apparently, the ghost of Christmas past.

"But I am, Malfoy. I've been told so on many occasions, and it's my love of childhood that makes me perfect for the job, at least according to Dumbledore."

"You mean your immaturity and infantile pranks are actually good for something?"

"Besides a highly successful practical joke business, you mean?"

Draco frowned. He didn't like it when Weasleys had a point.

"Well, since you're here, feeding my delusions, and being punctual besides, perhaps we can get this over with. My brandy will not drink itself."

"This isn't a delusion, Malfoy. This is your history." And with that, Fred Weasley grabbed his hand. Draco closed his eyes and felt the sick feeling of apparition overtake him as he was transported to somewhere else.

When he opened his eyes, he changed his assessment. He'd been transported to some _when_ else.

He was standing by the fireplace in the study. It looked exactly the same as it had when he'd seen Snape here the night before. It was decorated.

 _Tastefully_ decorated. It was Narcissa's work, after all. Fresh swathes of greenery clung to the mantelpiece, and holly was dotted around the bookcases. Fairies floated here and there, offering spots of light around the ceiling. A tree stood in the corner, dotted with _Engorgio_ -ed snowflakes and preserved ice crystals. It was large enough to dwarf him as a man, but it was his five-year-old self that knelt at its base, staring at the presents piled there.

"What did Father Christmas bring you that year?" Fred asked, jolting Draco out of his reverie.

"He never brought me a thing, since he doesn't exist."

"But you must have believed when you were still a wee tacker like that." Fred gestured at the small figure. "I mean, you're so small, you almost look _cute_."

Draco hmphed, and turned at the sound of a door being opened.

"Draco, why on earth are you up so early? And in such a state."

"It's Christmas, Father," the pint-sized Draco replied.

"That's hardly an excuse to still be in your pyjamas."

"I'm sorry, Father." Little Draco stood and walked carefully to the door of the study, where he stopped. He wasn't even as tall as his father's stupid cane. "Do you think Father Christmas came?"

"Draco, we talked about this. There is no Father Christmas. There was a wizard, once, who was a little senile and gave gifts to children at Yule. But he never gave anything to the Muggles. They stole him, do you understand? Stole him, as they steal so many other things from our culture, and they destroyed it. And what's the worst thing for them to steal?"

The little boy bit his lip as he thought about that. "Our magic, Father?" he asked, finally.

"Are you asking me, or are you telling me?"

"Oh, Lucius, it's Christmas," Narcissa said. "Give the child a break."

"He needs to understand – "

"I do!" said the child. Draco's heart clenched at how eager to please he sounded. He'd never managed to gain his father's approval. "I understand that Mudbloods steal our magic and take our places and they make things bad. It's just..."

"What, child?" his mother said, voice gentle.

"If there's no Father Christmas, where do the presents come from?"

His father huffed and turned away, but with his adult eyes, Draco could see his mother struggling not to laugh. "I will get you anything you wish for, little Dragon. Because you are always a good boy. Now, let's go get you dressed."

He watched his mother guide his younger self out of the room. "Never believing in Father Christmas? Doesn't make for a happy holiday, Malfoy."

Draco never took his eyes away from his father, who kept his disdainful eyes on the presents he'd always scorned.

The images shifted around them, and Draco watched himself grow older with each passing second, yet Christmas never changed. His mother's gentle smile remained overpowered by his father's cold gaze, and Draco didn't come down in his pyjamas again.

He looked away from the Christmas morning that saw his Aunt Bella hexing the fairies and Fred took his hand. "Come on. I think the next Christmas I have in mind will be more to your taste.

 

It felt like they were walking through fog, and when they emerged on the other side, he found he was standing on the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts. His eighteen-year-old self stood at the spot Albus Dumbledore had died and looked out over the snow-covered grounds.

He remembered that year. Eighth year, they'd called it. The only Slytherins from his year who had returned were the ones who were ordered to as a condition of their parole: Goyle, Nott, Tracey Davis and himself. All four of them walked around the school as if they were one of the ghosts that now haunted him. Draco had taken to visiting this spot; it was comforting, standing in a spot where someone – Albus Dumbledore, no less – had once thought that he could be saved.

But if this was Christmas Day, it meant... Draco turned towards the door just as Harry walked through it. He watched as Harry watched him; he hadn't realised how long he'd been observed. Then Harry took a step forward and kicked a telescope, klutz that he was, and younger Draco snapped around.

"What do you want, Potter?" Once upon a time, that phrase would have been spat out, but on this day, he just sounded exhausted.

"I was- " Harry lifted a wreath and stepped forward, letting his actions cover his lack of eloquence, as usual. "It was his favourite holiday," he said, with a wry twist of his lips.

"I'll just – " Younger Draco paused, while the watching Draco wondered if Harry's lack of eloquence was contagious.

"No. Stay." Harry took another hesitant step forward, as though afraid of scaring Draco off. "I can just leave this."

Harry put the wreath on the ground, propping it against the wall that Dumbledore had fallen over, and then leaned against the balustrade. From his vantage point on the other side of the tower, Draco could see the way the two bodies turned towards each other, as if through an invisible attraction. He knew the younger Draco was oblivious. Or maybe he wanted to push Harry away – he couldn't remember what was going through his mind that day.

"I thought you were going to leave it," he said, with a hint of his usual sneer.

"We could be friends, you know," Harry said casually, and that Draco _did_ remember.

He could see the shoulders of his counterpart tense and remembered the twisting in his stomach as he wondered if this was some sort of joke.

"Why would we want to be?"

"Because it's Christmas, and that means forgiving people and starting fresh."

"Isn't starting fresh for New Year’s? I think you're mixing up your holidays."

"Maybe I'd just rather be friends. It's Christmas and you're alone on the Astronomy Tower, probably brooding about what's happened, instead of thinking about all the good that can come next. In other words, you look like you could use a friend."

"Your very first friend, Malfoy?" Fred asked.

Draco scowled at him. The image faded away as the younger Draco hesitantly stretched out his hand.

 

Draco found himself in the small flat he'd lived in after leaving school. He'd been desperate to get out of the Manor and away from his mother, and had rented the small space above the apothecary where he'd apprenticed. It was not decorated – he had no interest in competing with his mother – but there was a fire in the fireplace, and Harry Potter's head poked out of it.

"Are you alone? Am I presuming on our fake friendship too much by poking my head through on Christmas Eve?"

"It's not a _fake_ friendship," both Dracos said, at the same time.

"It's a secret one," the younger Draco continued.

His younger self was blocking his view, but Draco knew Harry was rolling his eyes.

"Can you come through? I want to show you something. It's 'Padfoot's Place'."

Draco and Fred followed the younger man through the Floo to a light, airy study.

"It's done!" Harry was saying. "Kids move in on January second. Come _on!_ "

Younger Draco allowed his hand to be grabbed and was dragged along in Harry's wake. Draco followed more slowly; he remembered this day and he wasn't sure he could handle witnessing it again.

"Is this Grimmauld Place?" Fred asked, looking around.

"Padfoot's Place, now. I understand that it's changed quite a bit."

"That's an understatement."

They followed the young men through the townhouse, which now boasted two playrooms and a schoolroom along with nurseries, bedrooms and all the toys any child could ever want.

They paused at a portrait in the entrance hall. It portrayed four figures – the red-haired woman and the two dark-haired men moved to the front of the frame. The third man stayed frozen, staring at the ground as if to hide his scars. It was clear that his portrait-self had yet to awaken.

"Where did you get this?" Draco asked.

"It was in my vault, in the area I could only access once I came of age."

"Is everything organised, Harry?" the woman asked.

"Yes, Mum. I was just showing Draco around. Mum, Dad, Sirius – this is Draco. Draco, I'd like you to meet my family."

Draco had forgotten how Harry did that; Sirius was no blood relation, but he was claimed as family with calm ease. Harry did the same with the Weasleys, and with Remus, if Draco remembered correctly.

"I need to go give Draco his Christmas present," Harry was saying. "So I'll talk to you later."

"Christmas present?" Draco asked as he was dragged off again. "Why did you get me a present?"

"That's what Christmas is all about, silly. That smile on someone's face when you've found the perfect present? I never could afford good presents for people before now."

They had stopped in a parlour that featured a small tree with a mess of gaily-wrapped packages underneath. He quickly plucked one from the pile and held it out.

"Merry Christmas, Draco."

Draco still had the gift, he didn't need to watch it being unwrapped.

Fred nudged him. "What is it?"

"Stirrers," Draco replied, though that didn't do the rods justice. This was a complete set, of every type of stirring rod a Potions Master could ever need, all the best quality and with a hand-tooled leather case.

"It's for your apprenticeship," Harry was saying.

"I didn't get you anything."

"Well, there was that look of amazement." Harry was right. Draco was looking at the tools with awe; he still did, every time he used them, which was every day. "But if you want to give me something, you could –" Harry paused. Draco remembered exactly how he'd looked in that moment. He'd looked down, lashes hiding that vibrant green as a blush spread up his cheeks. His lower lip was caught in his teeth and it had made Draco's heart ache for something that could never be. Then he'd looked up again and Draco had been caught in eyes that were shining with a fierce determination. "You could kiss me."

The younger Draco waited a heartbeat. Then another. Long enough that the blush on Harry's cheeks had flamed and he'd started to take a step back, when Draco finally found the strength to reach out and pull him closer, grasping the back of his head and setting their lips together in a kiss that looked as scorching from the outside as it had felt on the day.

They watched for long moments, until the kiss gentled and Harry pulled away enough to rest his forehead against Draco's shoulder.

"Best present ever," he murmured, and the room faded as Draco's soft chuckle echoed around it.

"There was another Christmas with Harry," Fred said into the fog that surrounded them, and Draco knew with certainty that he didn't want to see this memory.

The fog cleared to the sound of Draco's orgasm, and he was standing beside Fred Weasley watching himself writhe and curse. Harry's arse was in the air, and by the way it was thrusting, Draco knew he was coming as well.

"The least you could do is to not stare at him."

"He's a good-looking man. And you gave up your right to stop others staring at him a long time ago. Or maybe it was just about now."

Draco scowled at Fred, but kept his mouth shut. He knew as well as anyone what was about to happen, although he'd tried hard to forget.

Harry finally sat up, throwing Draco a smug, self-satisfied grin as he licked a drop of come from the corner of his mouth.

"Was that an early Christmas present?" the Draco on the bed drawled.

"Yeah." Harry grinned. "For me."

Harry slithered up Draco's body and tucked himself under that pointy chin. He always wanted cuddles. Draco pressed his lips to that messy hair and they stayed like that, content, for a long moment. Until...

"Come to the Weasleys' with me for Christmas lunch."

"How very Slytherin of you – making sure I'm satisfied, before once again raising your wand to this unwinnable contest." Draco looked down at the man in his arms. "Pouting doesn't become you, you know."

The Draco watching flinched at the way Harry backed off. It was like knowing the broom was going to crash, but being unable to stop it. Instead, he could only watch as his younger self did something incredibly stupid.

"I'm being serious, Draco. I told them I'm seeing someone and I want them to meet you. I've been putting them off for so long that they call you my fake boyfriend."

"Well, why did you tell them anything?"

"Besides stopping them from setting me up with other men?"

The blond's nostrils flared and Draco knew it was jealousy flashing through him.

"I want them to know," Harry was continuing. "I want to us to spend Christmas together. And I'm sick of opening up the society pages and reading about your upcoming engagement to Astoria Greengrass."

"Mother wants a grandchild," Draco said with a wry smile. "I can't believe you read the society pages."

"Not the point, Draco!"

Harry was sitting up now, staring at his hands that fidgeted in his lap. Draco should have recognised the signs that something bad was about to happen.

"But we have tonight, Harry. Just us. Why do you need more that?"

"Because I want to tell everyone that I love you, you prat!" Harry's temper drained away as quickly as it had arrived. "But obviously, you don't feel the same way about me and I can't do this anymore. _Accio_ my stuff."

There was a surprisingly large amount of _stuff_ , given that Harry didn't actually live there. Harry angrily pulled a robe over himself as the Muggle toothbrush he insisted on flew in from the bathroom. Clothes, a pile of books, and Harry's broom polishing kit also flew through the open door and Harry threw all of it onto his winter cloak and gathered the four corners of the cloak together.

Draco remembered that it had been the single sock flying from underneath the bed that jolted him out of his stupor. "I do love you," his younger self said, sounding amazed that Harry wouldn't think so.

"You did, I think. I hope. I like to believe it wasn't just you getting off on having Harry Potter as your dirty little secret."

"Harry, it was never like that. I just need more time. Let the business get a little bit more established, before we tell people about us."

"Anyone who hates you dating the Boy-Who-Lived is still going to hate that, no matter how long your business is established before you tell them. The same with anyone who hates that you're gay. You just need to take the chance and trust that the business will still be there when you get back."

"I can't do that yet, Harry. I'm sorry. But I do love you."

"It's obviously not enough."

Draco and Fred automatically followed Harry through the Floo and Draco was surprised to find that he wasn't in the cramped quarters Harry had created in the orphanage's attic. Instead he was in the middle of a hideous room decorated in an aqua which clashed as horribly with George's hair as it did with the man's ghostly twin.

"Harry?" George was saying. "You alright?"

"Yeah." Harry shook his head as if to clear it. "Yeah. But I could do with a drink."

George _Summoned_ a glass and poured Harry a measure of whisky from the bottle set in front of him. "I thought you were with your fake boyfriend tonight?"

Harry drained the glass. "I don't have a fake boyfriend," he muttered. "Not anymore."

"Does this mean I can start setting you up with people?"

"I guess."

George grinned as the scene faded. "Excellent."

 

"Do you need to see more?" Fred asked, not unkindly.

Draco shook his head. He could remember the rest of that Christmas clearly: drinking himself into a stupor and waking up with the worst headache of his life. Noticing the single gift under the tree as he drained a hangover cure. Unwrapping the ring, engraved with a stylised stag and dragon – their Patronuses, and a spell he hadn't managed to cast until after he'd first kissed Harry. Charming the ring invisible before Apparating to the Manor and spending another Christmas lunch eating silently around the large table.

Wondering why the hell he was there, instead of chasing after his boyfriend and demanding his forgiveness. It was the same question he'd asked himself every Christmas since, through endless silent lunches; tomorrow would be the first Christmas lunch with just himself and his mother. He didn't hold out much hope that his father's death would suddenly bring warmth to the table.

He realised he'd been musing for far too long and he opened his eyes, expecting yet another horrific scene. Instead, he was back in his bed. Exhausted, he drifted off to sleep, praying that he did not dream of this insanity again.

 

** The Ghost of Christmas Present **

_Awaking in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore – though, of course, he didn't snore – Draco had no occasion to be told that the bell was again upon the stroke of one. Remembering the story from his childhood, and not being one to sit and wait for Fate to find him, Draco climbed from his bed as soon as the light began to seep through his bed curtains. Yes, it was far better to move forward and get this over with as quickly as possible._

 _He stepped into the room and looked around in surprise. In all his time in the house, his room had never looked like this; it was possible that in all the history of the Malfoys that no one had ever decorated in quite this way. Greenery fairly dripped from the walls, the glossy leaves of holly, ivy, and mistletoe like hundreds of mirrors around the house. Sitting on the ground, his arm around a reindeer, sat a jolly giant who bore a torch shaped like the horn of plenty._

 _"Come in!" exclaimed the spirit. "Come in! and know me better, man!"_

Honestly, whoever had paired the ghosts with him was on some serious drugs. Or whichever part of his subconscious those potions fumes were accessing had serious issues. First one of the Weasleys, a family he had taken pleasure in tormenting for much of his school career. Now there was Hagrid; he had begun a campaign to have the half-giant's pet destroyed in third year. And both spirits had died at the hands of Death Eaters. Draco studiously avoided looking at his forearm.

"Great man, Dumbledore," Hagrid was saying. "Says I just need to show you a bit about how Christmas is celebrated with normal folks." His eyes widened. "Not that you're not normal folks."

"Of course, Hagrid. Why don't we just get going? Sooner gone, sooner home in bed," he muttered under his breath.

"Well, why don't we start here?"

They stepped out of the door of the Manor and he found himself not in its extensive grounds, but standing in front of a small cottage that seemed rather lonely, as it was the only thing visible right to the horizon. Despite the isolated spot, Draco could clearly hear warm laughter and conversation from inside.

Hagrid kept tight hold of Draco's arm and walked straight at the wall. Draco flinched, even as he was pulled through as if the solid brick did not exist.

"It's yer family, Draco!"

Sure enough, he was in the Lupin household. His Aunt Andromeda was there, looking too much like Aunt Bella. Tonks sat on the couch next to her, and Remus sat on the floor watching a young child with blue hair tear into his gifts.

"You never told me whether we're expecting Narcissa and Draco, Dora."

"Did I run in the door shouting that old Draco Scrooge had accepted an invitation to our humble abode? No? Then assume he didn't."

Draco shifted uncomfortably as all three of them laughed. It wasn't just these ghosts who saw him as Scrooge?

"Who's Draco Scrooge?" the boy asked.

"That little Teddy's a curious one," Hagrid murmured, ending Draco's search of his memory for the boy's name.

"You know Scrooge. From that book Uncle Harry reads every Christmas."

Teddy scrunched his face in concentration, then looked up at his father. "Was his name Draco?"

"No. You're quite right, Teddy. His name was Ebenezer. Your Mum is just comparing your cousin Draco to the Scrooge from the book."

"Oh. Is he lonely, too?"

"No," his mother replied. "He's grumpy, and cold, and bitter about Merlin only knows what, seeing as how he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Is it really so hard to bend over and take the wand out of his a-"

Andromeda and Remus both cleared their throats rather loudly, interrupting whatever Tonks had been about to say. "Well, is it that hard to say 'Merry Christmas'?" she asked instead.

"But Uncle Harry says that Scrooge was sad for a reason, and by being grumpy he's only hurting himself. He says that everyone deserves a second chance."

Tonks snorted, but Remus smiled. "Quite right, Teddy. I'm glad you were listening so well."

"Always said 'e was a smart one, that Teddy," said Hagrid.

"You died while he was still in nappies," Draco pointed out, though he couldn't deny that he felt a certain softening in his attitude towards the boy, despite the blue hair.

They stood side by side, watching the small family celebrate Christmas. There was a large breakfast shared by all, and the adults watched as Teddy zoomed around the room on his new toy broom. Draco had the same thing for breakfast that he had every day – two cups of coffee and the morning paper. His mother usually slept until lunch. Draco found the quiet atmosphere soothing. Andromeda had given Remus a book of brainteasers and they whiled away the time trying to figure them out; Draco answered many earlier than the rest of the group and he found himself thinking that he would have enjoyed spending Christmas Day with them.

It must have been getting close to dinner time when Remus looked at his watch and exclaimed, "We're going to be late to Padfoot's!"

There was a scurrying of people as they threw outer robes on and collected gifts.

Then Teddy cried out. "I forgot my gift for Mr Scrooge!" He ran off and came back shortly after with a small parcel wrapped badly in hand-stamped paper. Draco thought it oddly endearing.

"Okay, everyone!" Tonks said. "Through the Floo!"

Draco made to follow, but was stopped by a giant hand on his arm. "Aren't we -?"

Hagrid shook his head and turned in the other direction.

They walked through the wall and into a clearing that Draco recognised as being near the Black Lake. It was crowded with a herd of Hippogriffs. He turned a questioning glance to Hagrid.

"It's Christmas for them as well, Draco."

"Really?"

"Well, no. But I've been wantin' to know how Buckbeak's gettin' on. Yeh don' mind, do yeh?"

"Buckbeak?" Draco whirled around, trying to keep all the creatures in his sights at once. "I thought he'd escaped and headed to Timbuktu, or wherever the hell they hail from."

"Well, no. Harry saved 'im, yeh see. And Sirius kept him at Grimmauld Place for a while, but once it was safe, 'e came back 'ere. This is his home."

Hagrid had approached the creature and was scratching behind its ears.

"How come they can see you?"

"Animals sense things at a different level; magical creatures even more so. Come an’ say hello."

Draco approached cautiously, recalling that he needed to bow, and show proper respect. Despite calling for Buckbeak's destruction, his father had still insisted that he learn what he had done wrong. When Buckbeak bowed in return, Draco felt warmth coil in his heart. He'd been forgiven. Hagrid had brought the herd a bag full of dead weasels, which made Draco smile.

"'E likes his Christmas present."

"A good choice, Hagrid."

"Well, we'd best move on. Next stop, Diagon Alley!"

They took two steps and appeared in the middle of the shopping district. Although the street was largely deserted, the exquisite Christmas displays were still active. Toys danced behind frosted windows, grinning Father Christmases offered toys, and Yule logs burned merrily in fireplaces. Behind the panes of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, a display of Everlasting Whizbees wished passers-by a Merry Yuletide, Happy Holidays and Wonderful New Year! It was directly through this display that Hagrid led him.

They walked through a door marked 'Staff Only' and up a set of stairs. The stairs opened up into a small living area with a kitchen tucked into the corner. An equally small Christmas tree stood in the opposite corner, a modest collection of presents below it. Gathered around the tree was his assistant, Ron Weasley, his wife Hermione, and two small children, both red-and-bushy-haired. The boy was still toddling, but he eagerly threw bits of paper into the air. The girl leaned heavily against her father; she was quite obviously ill.

"Right, you lot," Ron said. "Since all the presents are open, are we ready for lunch?"

Draco wondered where they would eat, not noticing a dining table anywhere. They all stood, and began to help. Even the youngest was given bread rolls to carry. The little girl spread a blanket carefully on the floor, though even that seemed to tire her. There was roast chicken and potatoes and a small salad to go with it, and the family sat happily on the floor to eat.

"Why do we sit on the floor at Christmas?" the little girl asked, her voice soft and weak.

"Because the tree is where the table normally is, Rose," Hermione said, in that no-nonsense way of hers. "We'll have Christmas dinner at the table, since we're going to Padfoot's Place."

The girl's face lit up, but the smile was quickly overtaken by a coughing fit.

"Maybe we shouldn't go this year, Hermione," Ron said, as he leant over his daughter to check on her. "We can visit Harry without the crowds."

"No, Daddy! I want to visit. I'll be quiet and rest, I promise."

"Of course we'll go, Rosie," Hermione said, sending a glare at Ron. "Your gran would kill us if we didn't. Now, shall we dig in?"

"A toast first. To health, and family, and Draco Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy?"

"The founder of the feast, Hermione."

Hermione made that little hmphing sound that she'd perfected at Hogwarts. "He's rude, obnoxious, prejudiced, and miserly, and you've been listening to Harry read that story again!"

"Hermione, once you get your Mastery, I'll resign and look after the kids while you happily support us. But my job pays for the food on our picnic blanket and –" Ron stopped and looked at Rose. Hermione looked down at her food; it was obviously a well-worn argument.

"To Mr Malfoy," Rose said, her breathy voice cutting through the tension in the room. "May he have a Merry Christmas."

Draco could see that Hermione did not want to repeat the toast, but she did in the end, not wanting to be a bad example for her daughter. The girl picked at her food and then fell asleep with her head on her father's lap.

"It's just a bad day, Ron. The excitement isn't good for her. She'll be better tomorrow."

Ron nodded as he stroked the ginger hair. "I just wish I could do more for her. More for all of you. I wanted to give you more than I had."

"You give us everything," Hermione replied, picking up her son and tucking herself into his other side. "With all his money, do you think Draco Malfoy could love a daughter half as much as you love Rosie? Or play with a son like you do with Hugh? That's what's important, Ron. Not money."

"It's important when it comes to her potions. It's only the staff discount that makes them affordable. If I had money, I might be able to pay for _more_ ; find something to save her."

"Oh, Ron." Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, and both Weasleys ignored the tears that stained their cheeks.

Draco finally understood why Ron Weasley had walked through his door looking for a job three years ago. "Does she make it, Hagrid?" he asked.

"Well, I'm no Seer, Draco, so I can't say for sure. But I can tell a sick kit when I see one, and it don't look good for her. Come on, now. One more stop."

"Something happy. Please."

"I'll try."

 

They walked down the stairs and into the familiar parlour of Padfoot's Place. Many of the people perched on chairs and sitting on the floor were familiar; some they'd seen earlier that evening. They all looked towards an armchair that rested beside the fireplace. In that chair was Harry Potter.

Harry. Draco had made it a point not to see the man since that Christmas four years ago. He couldn't believe how well Harry looked. More than that, he looked content. Draco found his insides twisting with jealousy when he saw that Roger Davies was among those gazing up at Harry adoringly.

Harry, however, had his eyes on the book that he held in his hands. The children of the orphanage were either cuddled against the adults or crowded around Harry's knee. A small girl, probably only four or five, sat on Harry's lap, his arm wrapped securely around her waist, and her golden curls pressed under his chin.

"Scrooge was better than his word," Harry was reading. "He did it all, and infinitely more."

Draco walked through the door and down the hall, needing distance from Harry so that he could get his heart under control once more. He stopped to eavesdrop on the conversation the portraits were having; he didn't need to feel guilty, since this entire episode had been one long spying session.

"So, do we like Mr Davies?" Sirius was saying.

"You know Harry isn't dating him."

Draco felt his heart lift at that.

"But he _could_ be, Lily. And I want to know if we should encourage him or not."

"Well," said a deeper voice, which Draco knew to be James. "He has to get over that blond git sooner or later."

"You're not supposed to mention him in this house."

"Not supposed to mention him to _Harry_ ," Sirius said. "Besides, since when do we stick to the rules?"

Draco slipped away again, wondering at that bit of information. Back in the parlour, Harry was just finishing the story.

"And it was always said that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that truly be said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!" There was a scattering of applause at the end of Harry's rendition, which Draco knew had taken place over the course of the last week. "Now, does everyone have a present for Mr Scrooge's stocking?"

Draco was standing near Davies and heard him murmur to Molly Weasley, "Scrooge's stocking?"

"It's an old tradition. Everyone puts a little something into a stocking for Mr Scrooge; he likes hair products, scarves and Honeyduke's. It teaches the kids to give without expecting something in return. Then Harry gives the gifts to the local poor, I think."

Draco turned to watch the children push their presents into Mr Scrooge's stocking and gasped in recognition.

"I don' think he gives it to the poor, do you, Draco?"

"No." No. The large stocking with a Slytherin "S" emblazoned on it was the same one Harry had given him on the two Christmases that they were together. He had said it was from the orphans, which it clearly was. One by one, the adults placed a present in the stocking, as well. "Not always. Maybe he does now."

"Harry always was one to pick up strays," Hagrid said casually. "Animals. Kids. Slytherins."

Draco focused on Davies' conversation with Mrs Weasley, something about a small Christmas dinner budget this year. He didn't like to think of himself as a stray.

"I'll go give this to Mr Scrooge, and then it's time for dinner. Is everyone ready?"

A chorus of 'yeses' met this question and Draco trailed Harry out of the room. In his attic quarters, Harry drew a box from under his bed and unwarded it. 'Draco' was sprawled across the lid in Harry's messy scrawl. Inside the box was a mess of pictures and letters from their time together, a Slytherin tie that he thought he'd lost while still at school, and at the bottom, a stocking for every year since they'd broken up. Harry had been saving them.

"'E's also not one to give up on someone," Hagrid murmured behind him, hand heavy on his shoulder. "He's a loyal one, our Harry."

"I don't need to see anymore," Draco said, turning back to the stairs.

"No. Someone's waiting for you."

Draco looked up and sure enough, a robed figure stood at the bottom of the stairs.

 

** The Lemon-Drop Pushing, Meddlesome Old Fool of Christmas Yet To Come **

_The phantom quickly, lightly, noisily approached. When it came near him, Draco felt himself smile, for in the very air through which this spirit moved it seemed to scatter joy and laughter._

 _This thought was worrying, given the events of the night, and Draco's dread returned._

 _The phantom was shrouded in a bright purple garment which hid its face, its head, its form, save one outstretched hand which held a small tin._

 _"I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?" asked Draco._

 _"Indeed," said the ghost, pushing the garment back from its head and revealing the familiar visage of Albus Dumbledore. Draco felt the fear take hold deep in his soul._

"I thought your role was supposed to be silent?"

"Then we wouldn't be able to enjoy a catch-up, dear boy. Lemon drop?"

Draco suddenly realised he was famished, and took the proffered sweet. As soon as the tart sourness hit his tongue, he felt the familiar pull of a Portkey.

They re-appeared in Diagon Alley, on the corner closest to Knockturn. Two of his father's old acquaintances stood by the gas streetlamp, talking to Gregory Goyle.

"I heard it was a long-acting curse, took him slow-like."

"I heard he was poisoned by someone his bastard of a father tortured during the war."

Goyle snorted. "He slipped and cracked his head open. That's all. I wonder where all that money's going. He was the only member of his family left."

"Hoping he left it to you, are you, Goyle?"

"I'm sure he forgot who I was as soon as we left Hogwarts. That's the sort of person he was."

Draco felt offended by that; he remembered exactly who Goyle was. He was the idiot that almost got him killed bare hours before the war's end.

"I've read the book, Sir. I know they're talking about me."

"Shall we see what others are saying, then?"

Dumbledore took his arm and they walked back into the Weasley flat, above Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

"I can't say I'm sorry to see the ferret gone, but what are we going to do about your job?" Hermione asked her husband as she struggled to clean the face of the little boy. He looked only a year or so older than when Draco had seen him last.

"Dad can get me a job at the Ministry. Or I'll help George downstairs; he said they needed to take someone else on. We don’t need the –" Ron stopped, eyes tearing up as he and Hermione quickly looked away from each other.

"Neville planted flowers at the plot. A rosebush, of course."

"Rosie did always love roses. Inevitable, I guess."

"I still can't believe they're breaking up the company."

Ron shrugged. "No will. No heir. All his assets get dissolved and given to the Ministry. He always was a selfish bastard. I mean, no one's upset that he's not their boss anymore, but all these people have families. They needed the jobs. He could have given the business to Tonks or Teddy, but no. He'd rather see it destroyed than think of his employees for once."

"Ron."

"What?"

"I miss Rosie, too."

The scene faded as the couple embraced and Draco told himself that he didn't feel sorry for Ron bloody Weasley. He _didn't_. He closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath and when he opened them again, he was standing in a graveyard.

"Don't make me watch her funeral," he told Dumbledore.

"Oh, no, Mr Malfoy. We're here for _your_ funeral."

Draco followed Dumbledore as he walked towards the open grave with two people standing beside it. One was an officiant, intoning the words of the old rituals over his remains. At his side stood Harry Potter.

The officiant finished his speech and turned to Harry. "Did you wish to say anything, Mr Potter?"

"No," Harry said. "No, I said my good-byes to him long ago." Despite this, Harry stayed where he was, long after the other man left. Even after the gravediggers filled in the hole and snow started to cover the fresh wound in the earth, Harry stayed. Finally, long after the sun had set and the wind had picked up enough to plaster Harry's cloak to his body, he turned and walked away.

The cemetery faded away and Draco was suddenly in a dingy Muggle apartment, the hum of the refrigerator loud after the silence of the wizarding world. Harry was still in the clothes he'd worn at the funeral, and was pressed against the wall by a slim, blond man.

"Yes," he moaned. Clothes were torn off in a hurry and Draco turned away so that he couldn't see the stranger press into Harry's tight heat. "Make me forget," Harry whispered.

Images began to flicker past, the scenes of Harry's life going past almost too quickly for him to see. Harry got older, and the surroundings changed, but the men stayed the same: young, slim, blond. Harry's words stayed the same as well. _Make me forget._ The speed of the images was making him feel ill, when they finally stopped.

He recognised the room they were in as the familiar parlour of Padfoot's Place. Some of the furniture was new, and the chairs that he recognised looked faded and shabbier. A large, dark tree stood in the corner.

"You don't have to help with this, Harry," a young woman said from the other side of the door.

"What else would I be doing on Christmas Eve?"

The door swung open and Harry stepped through. His hair was completely white, and although he still carried himself tall, he walked slowly. His arms were full of wrapped presents. A blonde woman followed him through the door.

"I wish you'd had a family of your own," she said. "Someone to love."

Harry put the presents carefully under the tree, then turned to the woman. "Maggie. All of you are my family. Every one of you who turn up on my doorstep looking for a home. And when you get married and have sprogs of your own, they will call me Gramps. Understand?"

The girl – Maggie – stepped into a hug, so she missed the look of pain that flashed through Harry's eyes.

"So I'm not just condemning myself to misery, I'm condemning Harry as well. Is that what you're saying?"

"Harry always was a very loyal young man," Dumbledore said mildly.

They stood and silently watched Harry arrange the presents carefully, until Dumbledore finally turned and looked at him.

"I told Harry once that it is our choices that show who we truly are. What I did not need to explain to him is that we can change our minds. A decision, once made, can be un-made by simply making a new decision."

"Simply?"

"You will just need to gather your courage. Perhaps, if I show you your Christmas yet to come should you make a different decision, it will help you to be brave?"

"Sir? Why are you doing this?"

"Because I still believe that there is something worth saving in you, Mr Malfoy. I would once again like to offer you a choice."

In the time it took to blink, the room around them shifted and Draco was standing in the bedroom of Harry's attic quarters. Bodies were shifting on the bed and Draco was not at all sure he wanted to see whatever _this_ was. Then a moan echoed around the room.

"Draco."

Draco looked again, and sure enough it was _his_ platinum blond hair spilling over Harry's fingers.

"I'll leave you, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore said, laying a hand on his arm.

"Sir?" Draco had to know. "Is this just in my head? Or is it real?"

"It's in your head, Draco. But why does that mean it isn't real?"

"Thank you, Headmaster," Draco murmured, as he watched the Headmaster twinkle out of sight.

He turned back to the bed in time to see himself shuffle down the bed and press Harry's thighs wide open. "Missed you," he told Harry. "Missed the taste of you."

Draco felt rather like a pervert, but it didn't stop him stepping closer so that he could watch this other him – this _lucky_ him – stretching out a tongue to taste the puckered skin of Harry's anus.

Draco didn't need to use his imagination; he remembered clearly what it was like to be in that position. He closed his eyes and felt the heat of Harry's thighs around his face, could breathe in the musky scent that surrounded him.

Harry was making those breathy little sounds that Draco loved so much and he bit back a moan of his own, though he knew neither man could hear him. He opened his eyes in time to see Draco – himself? – the lucky bastard, batting Harry's hand away from his cock.

"Don't you want to come on my tongue alone, Harry?"

"You think your tongue's that good?"

Draco licked a long stripe across Harry's flesh, sending a shudder through the man. "I know it is."

Harry's hips thrust up, as if his cock was searching for something, anything, to offer friction. Draco could tell from the way he moved so sinuously against the sheets, that his lucky self was rubbing off against the mattress.

Harry's hands were moving erratically, fisting in the sheets, then thumping against the mattress, before he finally threaded his fingers through blond locks to hold the other Draco in place.

Draco pressed his hand against the hardness still restrained by his trousers before he finally gave in to temptation. He fumbled quickly with buttons and gave a sigh of relief as he pulled his cock from its constraints.

The blond head pulled away and slipped two fingers straight into Harry.

"Are you mine, Harry?" Draco growled.

"Yes, yours," Harry said breathlessly. He pushed back onto the fingers that were thrusting inside him. "Only yours. Always yours."

With a groan, the lucky bastard set back to his task. From the way Harry arched off the bed, Draco knew that he had a tongue buried deep in his arse.

"Please, Draco. Gonna – God! Please. Ohfuckohfuckohfuck!"

Harry grasped his cock, and with that single touch, he came. Draco watched for a moment, fascinated by the ropes of semen spurting onto that perfect chest. Then the other Draco was shuddering and moaning into Harry's arse and Draco hadn't even realised how fast his own hand was moving over his cock until his cries joined the other two and his hand was suddenly coated.

He stared at his hand for a moment until he felt an unfamiliar dampness on his cheeks. "I'll change," he said fiercely, though he knew the two men in the room wouldn't hear him. He fell to his knees, his hand grasping the bedpost. "This is the future I choose. Past, present and future, this is what I want."

Then the bedpost shifted in his hand.

** The End and A Beginning **

_Yes! And the bedpost was his own! The bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to make amends in!_

 _"I don't know what to do!" cried Draco, laughing and crying at the same time. "I am as light as a house-elf, I am as happy as a Nargle, I am as merry as a Hufflepuff! I am as giddy as a drunken man!"_

 _He laughed, and for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, long line of brilliant laughs! He even laughed at the knock on his door._

"Draco, I know we don't celebrate Christmas, but were you really planning on sleeping the whole day away? It's nearly time to start dressing for dinner!"

Draco swung the door open with a bang, barely noticing his mother's jump of surprise. "It's still Christmas?"

"Of course it is. Did you think you had slept through the entire day?"

"I was a little worried about that, yes." He grabbed her around the waist and picked her up, ignoring her little squeal and ineffectual whack as he spun her around. "Merry Christmas, Mother." He planted a loud kiss on her cheek as he set her down.

"Draco, are you drunk?"

"Only on life!"

"Oh, this is my fault. The insanity comes from the Black side, but I was hoping the strong Malfoy genes would counter it."

Draco ignored his mother's mumblings and called for his house-elf. "Listy!"

The creature popped up in front of him. "Yes, Master."

"Merry Christmas, Listy!" The house-elf's eyes widened in shock. "Do you know where Padfoot's Place is?"

The elf nodded.

"What a good elf you are. What a _smart_ elf. You are to take all the food you prepared for Mother and I to Padfoot's Place. But don't let anyone know where it came from. Understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"And then –"

"Draco," his mother interrupted. "What is going on?"

"We're going out for dinner, Mother. You'd best get into something more casual."

As his mother fluttered off to get dressed, Draco bent to finalise his plans with Listy, before going to get ready himself.

 

Over an hour later, he stood beside his mother in front of the Floo. "You will follow me, won't you, Mother?"

"Well, I don't intend to spend Christmas here by myself, Draco. Are you intending to go through or not?"

Even her pursed lips couldn't spoil his mood today and Draco pressed yet another kiss to her cheek before he stepped into the Floo. On the other side, he was greeted by almost complete silence; the only sound was a whispered conversation that continued beside him even as every other occupant in the room stared.

"I don't know where it came from, Harry. Are you sure you didn't order it?"

"With what money, Molly? We can barely afford the chickens, let alone turkey, ham and pork."

"Well, I say don't question it, just accept it as a Christmas mirac-" Her voice trailed off as she finally spotted Draco.

Harry spun around with wand out, but dropped his arm as he took in Draco's appearance. Draco looked into the familiar green eyes and opened his mouth to speak when the Floo flared again and he turned to help his mother through.

Draco looked down at a tug on his robes and saw a short person, with golden pigtails, looking wide-eyed up at him. He recognised her as the one who had sat upon Harry's lap during his time with Hagrid. "Are you Father Christmas?" she said. He raised an eyebrow at her and she was quick to go on, "Only you came down the chimney, and that's where Santa comes from."

Teddy Lupin quickly stepped forward. "No, Maggie. Remember we told you – wizards and witches can travel through fireplaces."

Draco squatted beside the girl. "Santa did leave some things at my house, though. I think he meant to bring them here." He held out a small bag. "You might need to ask Mrs Weasley or Mrs Lupin to help you with it."

His aunt had stepped forward. "What are you doing here?" He couldn't tell if the woman was angry or bewildered, since the question had virtually no emotion to it; the Black training was still strong.

"I was under the impression that we were invited to spend Christmas with family, Andromeda," his mother replied in exactly the same tone.

"It was a lunch invitation."

"My son must have misunderstood. Easy to do when there's no written invitation."

Little Maggie stepped away from him and tugged on his mother's robes this time. "You look like the angel from the top of the tree."

Draco grinned at the way his mother's face melted. "Aren't you sweet? Do you need help with that bag?" Hopefully, this would stop the constant haranguing for grandchildren.

As Maggie led Narcissa towards the tree, with Andromeda following behind, the Weasel stepped up. "What _are_ you doing here, Malfoy?" It was obvious he was trying to balance respect for his boss with disgust at seeing him at the family Christmas.

"I wanted to deliver your new contract in person. No sense wasting time when you're back at work." Draco handed over a thin scroll.

"New contract?" Hermione Granger-Weasley stepped forward. "You listen to me, Draco Malfoy. There are _laws_. "You're not allowed to harass workers on their days off. You're not allowed to arbitrarily change their contracts."

"'Mione." Weasley tried to interrupt.

"You're not allowed to force people to work seven-day workweeks."

"'Mione," Weasley said, louder this time.

"And you're not allowed to ruin Christmas!"

" _'Mione!_ "

"What is it, Ronald?" He handed over the scroll and she quickly scanned it. "This ... this is..."

 _A very substantial raise,_ Draco thought to himself, though it would be crass to say it out loud. Suddenly his arms were full of a crying Gryffindor know-it-all and he hesitantly patted her back.

"The potions?" she asked through her tears.

"Free, for as long as you need them, whether Ron is my employee or not. And if you get me Rose's medical records, we'll start developing something better." She cried harder. "Oh, do calm down, Granger."

Thankfully, Ron came to take his wife off of his hands and Draco had the opportunity to dry his robes. The children were exclaiming over the old toys that he'd had the house-elves wrap and Ron was talking to the rest of his family about the new contract. But Harry. Harry was standing in the corner of the room just staring at him. He held out his hand and a stocking with a giant S embroidered on the front whizzed past Draco and into Harry's hand.

"Merry Christmas, Draco," Harry said, when Draco got close enough to hear.

"Merry Christmas, Harry," Draco replied, taking the stocking. It was full of scarves and sweets and small toys. A parcel wrapped in familiar hand-stamped paper poked out of the top. "I didn't get you anything."

Harry looked hesitant as he bit his lip, but his eyes still shone when he looked up. "You could kiss me."

This time, Draco didn't hesitate. He pulled Harry close, threaded his fingers through that messy hair, and gently claimed his lips. He tried to pour everything he'd dreamed, everything he'd missed into that kiss. Everything he'd learnt the night before about love and hope and what an idiot he'd been. He pulled back, looking into Harry's eyes, trying to figure out if he'd been forgiven.

Harry grinned and grabbed him, taking control and making the next kiss full of love and passion and the longing they'd both been feeling for so many years. Finally, the catcalls of the rest of the guests penetrated into his brain and he gently pulled away.

"Best Christmas present ever," Harry said. "May I ask what brought it on?"

"An overabundance of annoying Gryffindors. And a reminder that I can change my future by making a different decision."

"I take it I will have no grandchildren, Draco?"

"On the contrary, Mrs Malfoy. All the children here will call you Gran."

Narcissa shot a withering look at Harry before she turned to Maggie. "You may call me _Grandmere_. Understand?"

"Yes, Grand-mir."

Everyone stifled a giggle as Narcissa pressed a kiss to the curls.

"Uncle Harry?" a small voice piped up. "You never finished the story."

"Well, why don't you finish it, Rosie? It was only the last little bit."

Everyone looked expectantly at the little girl, who was so like her mother.

"Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old City knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough in the good old world."

"Was the feast yours as well?" Harry murmured in his ear.

"A great many back payments are included," he replied, leaning into the arms that had wrapped around him.

"And it was always said of him," Rose continued, "that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed-" Rose paused and looked around the room, sharing a smile with them all. Draco felt Harry give her a small nod and she drew in a breath at the same time as everyone else.

A chorus of voices joined in the last line.

"God bless Us, Every One!"


End file.
